


Captain Quinn's Tragic Secret

by chorus



Category: Project Blue Book (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-28
Updated: 2019-03-28
Packaged: 2019-12-26 00:55:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18272516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chorus/pseuds/chorus
Summary: Captain Quinn lives with a secret which Dr. Hynek discovers.  The doc wants to do something about it, and finally does.





	1. Discovering The Secret

Dr. J. Allan Hynek slumped back in the seat, leaning against the car door, feeling the last of his energy flowing out of his 42-year-old body like water down a drain. Despite the road being smooth, it was clear the Packard needed new shock absorbers, as well as a few other things. Maybe after the Korean War ends, whenever that will be, he mused. Adjusting his glasses, he gazed through the window into the night fog, his mind troubled.

Hynek had just finished researching a difficult case, and despite the number of tests he ran, people he’d interviewed, could only reach an inconclusive result. Part of the problem for working for Project Blue Book was that the Air Force wanted all these reports of “flying saucer” sightings explained, and explained away as being man made. Dr. Hynek believed that way too, so it was frustrating that he had to report “inconclusive” this time. He didn’t like inconclusive. Everything had to have an explanation, and science was supposed to provide that. Only it didn’t.

He was sure that the man sitting next to him, driving the car, was unhappy as well. He looked over at Captain Michael Quinn, who was half concentrating on driving, half brooding about something. Beyond the deep blue eyes, set above a chiseled face with its perpetual smirk, and underneath impeccably styled hair, Captain Quinn was Air Force discipline in human form. Even now, his clothes were unwrinkled, every crease sharp, his movements careful. His deep voice no doubt could make women swoon. Quinn could turn on the charm when he wanted or needed to, but otherwise he was very strict with himself.

Hynek sighed, a deep, exhausted sigh. “Another case closed.”

“And a general who is going to be very pissed off.” Quinn’s eyes never left the road. “I read your report, and we’re both going to be in trouble.”

“I hate it, too, but it’s the best I could do. I’ll talk to the general. After all, you didn’t have anything to do with what I said.”

“Skip it, doc. I’ll get threatened again, you’ll get a lecture, and General Harding will change the report to the way he wants it.” A shadowy smile played around Quinn’s mouth. “At least we finished it today, so maybe we’ll have the whole weekend free.”

“Going to chase the ladies tonight?” Hynek ventured a weak grin. The Captain was barely over thirty, in excellent physical shape, and Hynek assumed, single. Never had anything been said about going home to the wife, or missing dinner, much less anything about kids. This question was Hynek’s chance to test his assumption.

Quinn glanced at him, that smile still flitting around his lips. “Nope. That’s tomorrow night. Tonight I’m going flying, taking a fighter up and having some fun.”

Hynek almost cringed. Quinn was a fighter pilot, had flown missions in the second world war. He’d taken the scientist up one night and scared the daylights out of him. “Why tonight?”

“I need to keep up my ratings. Kill two birds with one stone.” All pilots had ratings; there were three basic ones: visual, which meant the pilot flew by ordinary sight, and so could fly in daytime only; instrument mean he used electronic equipment to manage his flying, and night flying, which could only be achieved after getting an instrument rating.

“Will you be up all night?” asked Hynek.

“No.” Quinn replied. Although he loved flying, felt completely at home in the cockpit, he’d been up since before dawn, and it had been a busy day. He was tired, and a tired pilot makes mistakes. It took just one mistake to end everything. Besides, Quinn had other things to do over the weekend. Glancing quickly at his passenger, he muttered, “Gotta do paperwork tomorrow, thanks to you.”

“Me?” Hynek was surprised. “I thought I did all the paperwork.”

“Somebody’s got to explain all the gas, hotels, and equipment you use in your experiments, doc. The government likes to keep detailed track of all of it, but why they do is above my paygrade to know.” Quinn sounded frustrated, and while the doctor was used to that, this was something different. He gave Hynek a full-on stare before looking back at the road. “You do the fancy stuff, so I get stuck doing the other stuff. Boring as hell. I’m a pilot, a fighter pilot! I shouldn’t be chained to a desk, adding two plus two, babysitting you.” He immediately regretted his last two words, because while he was supposed to watch out for Hynek, he was also an equal coworker.

Hynek was surprised, and a little upset at the outburst. He thought Quinn had an actual interest in the assignment. Surprise turned to defensiveness. “Hold on there-”

Quinn looked at his passenger again, taking a breath. “Sorry, doc. I just get frustrated, that’s all. I know the work you, we, do is important, I just hate paperwork. I’m a pilot, flying is what I enjoy. Give me a cockpit anytime.”

“Maybe I could help?” ventured Hynek.

“No, that’s okay.” Quinn’s expression changed to something odd. “I can do it, I just hate it. I’ll knock it out, then go chase the ladies. You spend the weekend with your wife and son.” The Captain repositioned his hands on the steering wheel, and froze his gaze out the windshield. Hynek understood, knew the conversation was over. He turned his head to look out the window again, back into the fog.

 

The Saturday morning sun found Dr. Hynek at his desk at home, feeling unsettled. Since he didn’t know when he would get home, his family had made other plans. His son was off on an adventure with friends, and his wife had gone shopping. The house was quiet, so he thought this would be a great time to catch up on some work, but his mind kept wandering back to what Quinn had said about hating paperwork. He was torn: a part of him knew that it would get done, and that there was a lot of stuff right here, including some bills that his wife Mimi had left for him; he should take care of his family and responsibilities first. The other part of him was very curious about the paperwork that Quinn was doing, was it really just expenses? Finally he gave up and grabbed his hat.

At the Wright-Patterson Air Force Base main gate, his civilian ID raised the eyebrows of the guard on duty, probably wondering why this man would be working on the weekend. Because there was no reason not to, the guard let him in, and Hynek found a parking place easily. He’d grown accustomed to the clacking noise of his hard shoes against the cement floor as he made his way down the poorly lit corridor to Quinn’s office. But Quinn wasn’t there. The lights were off, the door locked. Peering through the glass, Hynek could see that the Captain’s desk was neat and orderly, no sign of paperwork needing to be done.

Puzzled, Hynek turned to leave when he saw somebody at the end of the hall. Of course, he realized, floors still had to be swept and mopped, trash taken out. “Hey! Have you seen Captain Quinn today?” he shouted.

The soldier spun around. “Who?”

“Captain Michael Quinn. This is his office.” he said, pointing at the door. “He was supposed to be here, but there’s no sign of him.”

Corporal Jackson Spinnaker hesitated. He’d known Captain Quinn for a few years, and knew that he usually came in on Sundays when there was leftover work. More to the point, he knew why, something that Quinn had asked him not to share. “Oh, yeah.” he replied, haltingly. He also knew who Dr. Hynek was, and how he worked with the Captain. Did that make it okay to tell where Quinn was, Spinnaker asked himself? “He’ll be in tomorrow.”

“He told me he was coming in today. We’re supposed to get some work done.” Sure, that last part was a lie, but Hynek wanted answers.

“He must have changed his mind.” Spinnaker tried to buy some time while he thought fast. He often worked on weekends, the atmosphere was more relaxed, and officers who did come in were usually more cordial. This wasn’t an officer, though, it was a civilian.

Dr. Hynek was a very observant man, and he could see what was going on in the corporal’s eyes. “You know something, why don’t you just tell me?”

“Im not supposed to tell anybody.” Corporal Spinnaker just admitted that yes, he did know where Captain Quinn was, and why. He was still trying to decide whether to reveal the truth.

“You can tell me.” Hynek was gentle. “After all, I work with him.”

Spinnaker made his decision. “Yeah, I guess so.”

 

Dr. Hynek pulled up to the two-story cinderblock building. It had been painted white once, but was now faded to just plain drab. Set on the outskirts of town, there was a fenced in area to the left. Why would Quinn be here? He had to ring the bell twice before a woman answered, and she was definitely an all business, no nonsense type of person. He introduced himself, explained his reason for being there. The woman stared at him for a long minute, then raised her arm. “Down this hallway to the end, on the right.”

Walking down the hallway, Hynek studied his surroundings. While clean, one could never use the words pretty or welcoming to describe this place. Glancing into some of the rooms he passed, he noticed that the windows were small and set up high. The rooms themselves were barely furnished: a bed, a locker, a chair. Approaching the place where Quinn was supposed to be, Hynek heard a noise. Drifting to the wall, he peeked into the room.

The windows were bigger in this room, just as the room itself was bigger. Along three walls were low-slung shelves, filled with toys, games and stuffed animals. All over the floor there were what looked like sleeping bags, each containing a napping child. Some, Hynek noticed, were crippled, with crutches or wheelchairs next to them. He also found what was causing the noise.


	2. The Story About The Secret

Sitting cross-legged in the middle of the room was Captain Michael Quinn, dressed in jeans and a blue casual shirt, strumming an old guitar. He was singing a popular song, but was doing it softly, in a lullaby style. Looking around, sure that all the children were asleep, he finished the song, and rose straight up as though he were being pulled by puppet strings. Tiptoeing quietly, he went to a small boy who had fallen asleep with his glasses still on. With barely a wiggle, Quinn eased the glasses off the boy and set them on the wheelchair next to him. Then he leaned over and kissed the boy on the forehead.

In the hallway, Dr. Hynek felt uncomfortable. He knew that he was intruding on something very personal, very important to the captain. He knew he shouldn’t be here, that he should leave. Trying to be as quiet as possible, he turned and headed for the front door. He’d only gotten a few steps when a strong hand grabbed his neck and pulled him back. “What are you doing here?’ hissed Quinn into his ear.

Hynek was startled. “I went to the office, looking for you, but you weren’t there.” he spluttered. “I wanted to help you with your paperwork.”

“Uh-huh, sure. And how did you find out where I was?” another hiss, still holding with an iron grip.

“One of the guys told me, and I was curious what you were doing here.” Hynek stared into Quinn’s blue eyes, which were blazing with anger. His mind worked fast, and then he understood. “That’s your son, isn’t it? The one you took the glasses off of?”

Quinn grabbed him by the shoulders, a murderous look on his face. “That’s none of your business! Get out!” A slight shove emphasized his order.

He had to take a couple of steps backward to keep his balance, then the doctor’s naturally inquisitive nature took over. “What’s he doing in here?” Hynek pointed to the playroom.

“Dammit, doc, will you ever learn to mind your own business?” Eyes still blazing, his hands balled into fists, Quinn took a deep breath. “Look, doc, just go!”

Hynek wasn’t going to give up easily. “What’s the wheelchair for?” Seeing the look intensify on Quinn’s face, he realized he had probably gone too far. “I’ll go, and don’t worry, I won’t tell anybody.” He freed himself from the captain’s grip, turned and started walking away.

Quinn’s emotions were in full turmoil. He was angry at Hynek, that his private life had been invaded. Whoever told the doc about the orphanage was going to get yelled at. But at the same time, he worked with him, worked quite closely. Didn’t it make sense that sooner or later Hynek would find out? Or did it? Except for those times when Quinn had picked up Dr. Hynek at his house, and so had met his wife and son, both men’s personal lives had been kept separate, away from the work they did. That was the way it was supposed to be.

Quinn had carried this burden for so long, so privately. He could count, on less than one hand, the number of people outside this place who knew. All the lies to cover up what was going on, not even General Harding had any hint. (Unless the general was having him watched, Quinn pointed out to himself.) The captain had made it a habit that his business and personal life were kept separate, an invisible fence separating the two. Only those who needed to know got to see over the fence.

Was the doc one of the people who should see over the fence? While he’d done some crazy, and perhaps stupid, things, overall Hynek was a good guy. Quinn actually liked him, liked working with him, and not just because of their work in Project Blue Book. Quinn was learning a lot. In difficult circumstances, they had protected each other, sometimes in ways not immediately understood. Quinn told himself again that Hynek was a good guy.

“Wait!” Quinn’s face softened, his fists unballing. “I’ll tell you, but let’s go somewhere else.”

 

“His name’s Mark, I call him Marky.”

The bar was not very crowded, a couple sitting at a table, two guys playing pool. Quinn had dropped some money in the jukebox and punched the numbers for about seven songs. He ordered a beer for both of them. Staring at the bottles on the shelf, Quinn’s voice lacked it’s usual luster. 

Captain Michael Quinn had been a married man. His wife, Karen, was a beautiful ninety-eight-pound brunette whose strong but sweet personality had left him with weak knees. They dated for about six months before marrying. Wanting the best for her, Quinn had cut his spending wherever he could, saving up his money. The day after the wedding they bought a house.

The war was over, and Quinn was training pilots. He loved his work, and he loved coming home, where he was greeted with a kiss and told to wash his hands for dinner. She, too, was good at saving money, and they were planning to convert the second bedroom into a nursery. Of course Captain Quinn had wanted the room filled with sports equipment and model airplanes, but the practical Mrs. Quinn told him the room would be arranged so that it was easy to keep clean, and have lots and lots of diapers.

When Karen told him she was pregnant, he almost burst with pride and excitement He wrapped his arms around her and gave her a very long and passionate kiss. They celebrated with a candlelight dinner at home that evening.

It would be a boy, Quinn was sure. He’d teach him to toss a football and a baseball, he’d cheer him on at every Little League game. As he got older, dad would explain the birds and the bees, then give him pointers for asking a girl out on a date. He would be the proud papa at his son’s wedding. Maybe his son would follow in his footsteps and become a pilot.

It was during the sixth month of pregnancy that the problems started. There had been morning sickness early on, but this was different. First pain, then cramps, then something Karen called “spotting”. She went to the doctor who had immediately put her in the hospital. Quinn was both horrified and terrified. He spent as much time with her as he could, holding her hand and promising that things would get better. More often than not on weekends he slept on a cot in her hospital room, never far away. His buddies at the base helped out too: they took care of his yardwork, while the wives kept the inside clean and cooked food for him, putting covered dishes in the refrigerator with detailed instruction on how to heat it up.

One morning three weeks after she’d gone in the hospital, Karen suddenly went into labor. The base commander himself pulled Captain Quinn away from his pilot trainees, and sent him off. He’d rushed through the hospital doors, and despite frantic pleas, was told to go to the waiting room. A few minutes later, the doctor stopped by long enough to tell Quinn it would be complicated, then hurried back to where he was taking care of Karen and the baby, leaving the husband and soon-to-be father dumbstruck in a room that only had metal folding chairs, a few magazines, and some vending machines.

Minutes flowed into hours as Quinn wore out his shoes pacing in the waiting room, lighting one cigarette off another and wishing he had a beer. He couldn’t help but think the worst thoughts. He watched other people come and go, mostly other waiting fathers, but didn’t talk to them. He cringed every time a nurse came in and gave the good news to one of the expectant fathers. He drank the awful coffee out of the vending machine. He asked all the nurses who walked by if there was any news, wanting to know but at the same time not wanting to know, but they would just shake their heads and go on. Darkness settled in, and by this time he was so desperate and distraught, he fell to his knees and prayed.

A hand shook his shoulder. Quinn’s eyes popped open to see a man’s face standing over him. He hadn’t realized he’d fallen asleep on the floor. The face moved back so Quinn could sit up, but when he did, the face looked at him sadly.

“I’m sorry about your wife, we did everything we could.”

Quinn’s breath caught, and he felt paralyzed. Karen was gone. He took a deep breath to cut off the anguished scream that was building in his guts. Why her? How could this happen? Then his mind clicked on something else.

“My baby? What about my baby?” The doctor saw the panic in the father’s eyes.

“It’s a boy, but there’s something wrong. Other doctors are examining him now. He’s going to live, but we need to examine him further.” 

Captain Michael Quinn, a United States Air Force pilot, who’d had many brushes with death during World War II and laughed about it, fell back into a chair, his mind in turmoil. This can’t be happening, he thought. We were going to be a family. Now Karen is gone, and my son is - broken. He closed his eyes. This can’t be happening, he repeated to himself.

The doctor turned to leave. “I’ll get you a sedative. Or maybe a drink.”

“Wait!” pleaded Quinn. “Can I see him?”

Now there was pain in the doctor’s eyes, too. “Not before tomorrow, at the earliest.” Quinn closed his eyes; the doctor studied him again. “A drink, maybe two, I think, would be best.”

 

The jukebox finished the last of the songs Quinn has punched in, and went silent. The pool players had finished their game and were sitting at a table, talking about sports. The couple was gone, having left hand in hand, which, fortunately, neither Hynek nor Quinn had noticed. 

“It’s cerebral palsy. He’ll never walk, he can barely talk.” 

Hynek, his face ashen, signaled the bartender for two more beers. Turning to Quinn, he wanted to say something, but couldn’t.

Quinn, his head hung down, took a gulp of beer. “I knew I couldn’t take care of him, so I pay the orphanage. They do what they can. I try to visit at least once a week.”

“I’m sorry.” whispered Hynek. “I had no idea.” He couldn’t see the pain in Quinn’s eyes.

“You weren’t supposed to. It’s my business, not yours.” Quinn’s voice was flat, emotionless.

“At least you get to see him, be a part of his life.” Hynek was desperate to ease the pain they both were feeling. “You see all the kids, play your guitar and sing for them. That’s a very kind thing to do.” 

“Yeah. The orphanage people don’t mind, say it’s good for them. Picked up a little guitar as a teenager. Not much, but I can strum the chords. While I’m no Perry Como, I can sing well enough.” Quinn sat a little straighter, his voice returning to normal.

They drank their beers in silence, both lost in their thoughts. Hynek was stunned by what he’d learned. He never guessed that Quinn, who always seemed to be so self-confident, so self-assured, could be carrying this kind of pain. “It must be hard for you.” the scientist was still whispering.

Slowly Quinn turned and looked Hynek in the eye, his own face carved up in agony. “Hard for me? For all of his life, my son will never walk. He’ll probably lose his talking ability in the next few years. He’s a prisoner in his own body!” His voice was rising, his breath hitched. “And when he turns eighteen, he’ll probably go into some kind of cripple asylum, where he’ll spend the rest of his days tortured by that body!”

Hynek was desperate to give this man some kind of hope. “Maybe not. Medicine is making advancements-”

“Stop it, doc!” Quinn snapped, loud enough to get the bartender’s attention. He shook his head to calm himself. “You can preach all the science you want, but we both know that none of it will help Marky. My son, my pride and joy, is suffering, and will suffer his whole life, and all I can do is hold him and sing to him.” Quinn turned away, taking several deep breaths. Had a tear been building up? Without turning back, he spoke. “I’m going home. Don’t mess with my paperwork, doc.”

Dr. J. Allen Hynek opened his front door, but didn’t turn on any lights. There was enough light from the streetlights for him to hang up his coat, and make his way to his office. His wife and son were asleep, but he knew it would be a long time before he did. Sitting in the dark, he thought about Mimi and Joel. Both were healthy, both were safe, both were his family. The scientist was a religious man, though not a churchgoer. Still, he gave thanks for his good fortune, finishing with a small request that the good fortune continue.

Captain Michael Quinn didn’t turn on any lights at home, either. They were unimportant; he knew his way around. Grabbing a bottle, he sat at the kitchen table, staring blankly, not really seeing anything, not wanting to feel anything, not wanting to think anything. He didn’t get what he wanted: memories of Karen and Marky floated through his thoughts, each causing a pain as bad as getting a punch in his gut. He guzzled the bottle’s contents.


	3. The Final Gift

Major Michael Quinn, US Air Force, retired, reread the letter in his hand, asking him to be present at the reading of Dr. Hynek’s Last Will and Testament. He’d attended the funeral two weeks ago, and though he and the doc had gone their separate ways years ago, he felt sad for the loss of a man who had started out being a nuisance, but had become somebody to admire. He had respected the Doctor’s work, and while never admitting it publicly, had become convinced, as Hynek had, that there were UFO’s and aliens.

Quinn walked into the lawyer’s office carpeted lobby, where large curtained windows kept the summer sunshine muted. There he saw Mimi Hynek and her son Joel, whom he greeted politely. Although they’d all gotten to know each other over the years, Quinn considered it an acquaintanceship rather than a friendship. Mimi was surprised to see him, and even more surprised when he showed her the letter. Moments later the secretary told them to go into the conference room.

Adam P. London, Attorney at Law, was a slightly overweight man wearing a friendly smile. After everybody was seated, he wasted no time. “I think you all know that you’re here because Dr. Hynek has left something to you.” Mimi glanced over at Quinn, wondering why and what kind of bequest her husband had made to him. The lawyer explained that of course, the Doctor had provided for her and Joel, and even provided for Joel to take post-graduate college if he wanted to. He didn’t go into detail, just saying that Mimi would have papers to sign later.

“Where did he get all this money?” asked Mimi. “He never said anything to me.” Slightly embarrassed, the attorney explained that her late husband had been diverting some of their income to secret savings funds. Had he not died so soon, he was going to surprise Mimi with a delightful retirement, full of travel and happiness and almost anything she wanted. The second account was for Joel: to finish his education or continue to post-graduate school if he wanted to; if he already had a career, then it would be a final present to him.

Mimi Hynek was bemused by these revelations. She knew that Allen was saving for retirement; they planned to sell the house and buy a small cottage, preferably close to the ocean. Making these extra arrangements was something that her husband would do, though she felt a little annoyance that he kept it secret from her. There was one last piece of the puzzle. “And what else?” she asked.

“That’s for Captain, excuse me, Major Quinn.” the attorney replied, looking over. Quinn sat up a little straighter in his chair while the lawyer pulled out another folder, opened it on his desk, and picked up the top sheet of paper. “Dr. Hynek bought a ten thousand dollar life insurance policy, naming Michael Quinn as the beneficiary. His hope was that Quinn would use the money toward taking care of his son, Marky.”

Quinn was thunderstruck, and his eyes grew wide. He and Dr. Hynek had never talked about Marky since that night in the bar so long ago. He knew that Hynek had wanted to help, but this was unexpected. However-

“Marky died four years ago.”

Mimi and Joel, who had been staring at Quinn, surprised to learn that he had a child, not surprised that Hynek would do something like this, were taken slightly aback. Mimi felt a stab of anguish because one of her secret fears was that something would happen to Joel and she’d have to bury him. She’d seen what that had done to a friend of hers, and wasn’t sure she could handle the devastation.

“It doesn’t matter,” the lawyer said smoothly, giving Quinn a faint smile. “The insurance policy is directed to you. While Dr. Hynek hoped you’d use it for your son, you get the money. What you do with it is your business.”

Captain, now Major Michael Quinn, a man who believed in discipline and controlling one’s actions and emotions, broke. “Give it to the Hyneks.” His eyes were watery. “I don’t want it.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Quinn.” Mrs. Hynek’s voice was soft with a touch of pain. “I never knew you had a son, Allen never told me.” She turned in her chair to face him. “Excuse me, but I have to ask, what did he die of?”

Quinn was still struggling to get his emotions under control. “I asked him not to tell anybody.” He took a deep breath. “Marky had cerebral palsy, was born with it.”

Mimi’s hand flew to her mouth, her eyes grew wide. Although the attorney had known for years, he was surprised, surprised that Major Quinn would so easily reveal this fact to near strangers. Hynek had sworn his lawyer to secrecy, explaining how Quinn was a private man, how Hynek had stumbled upon the truth. Looking down, London unnecessarily shuffled papers on his desk. He, too, had children, both of whom were in college, and he gave a silent thanks that they were healthy.

Joel Hynek broke the heavy silence. “Please, Mr. Quinn -”

“Major Quinn.” the lawyer corrected him in a soft voice.

“Yeah. Major Quinn.” Joel amended. “Please take the money. Dad wouldn’t have done this unless he was sure that you would use it well.”

Quinn felt stuck. While the money from Dr. Hynek had touched him deeply in an oh-so-personal way, Marky was gone so he had no use for it. Everybody here, though, seemed determined he should take it. He made one last try to get out of it. “The money won’t bring Marky back.”

“Perhaps it could help others?” the lawyer ventured, his voice still soft.

This guy’s a good lawyer, Quinn though. He remembers that it’s not just collecting billable hours, but that he’s dealing with people who have real thoughts and emotions and concerns. What he’d just said had given Quinn a way to save face while getting out from under this situation. Quinn was grateful for the escape, and gave the counselor a look of thanks before turning to the Hyneks.

“Mrs. Hynek, Joel, I appreciate your generosity. Yes, I’ll take the money, but only by giving it away.” Quinn’s eyes were clear, and his mind was made up. All that remained was to give instructions. He turned to the lawyer. “Some of the money goes to the orphanage. Some of it goes to the Wright-Pat Relief Society. The rest goes to whoever does research on cerebral palsy.” The Wright-Patterson Relief Society, more commonly known as Widow’s Aid, was an independent charity that helped Air Force widows establish a new life since they no longer had a husband.

“And, of course, some of it goes to my fees.” the lawyer grinned. He and the Major exchanged a look that said there would be no fees, that this act of kindness would be given in full. It did, however, break the tension.

Quinn stood up. “That’s settled, then. I’ll be on my way. Mrs. Hynek, Joel. Counselor, I’ll wait to hear from you.” He bowed slightly to the widow, and shook the son’s hand. When he turned to shake the lawyer’s hand, the other man stood up and stiffened.

“Captain Adam London, sir, US Air Force JAG, retired.” The lawyer saluted. Quinn reflexively came to attention and saluted back. So the man had been an Air Force lawyer, too, Quinn thought. JAG stood for Judge Advocate General, the legal division of the Air Force that handled everything from drunk airmen to court martials. His respect for the man immediately tripled.

Out on the sidewalk, Quinn stopped and looked up. The sky was clear, a soft, inviting shade of blue. There wasn’t a cloud to be seen. The sun was just starting its afternoon descent. He no longer tried to restrain his emotions; a tear slid down his face.

“Thank you, Dr. Hynek.” His breath hitched. “I love you, Karen, Marky.”


End file.
